A Glacier and Glass
by Apocalyptian Scribe
Summary: Glass . . . Ice . . . how fragile they are both in their make. Lissandra has always confided in her strength, but how far does an ice take to crack. Then again, to crack does not mean to break.


**A Glacier and Glass**

**Prologue**

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In the Freljord, sleep was merely another word for death. To Lissandra, however, it meant something else entirely. For those that were not blessed as she was to resist the cold, sleep was a time of fear and dread. Like the darkness that came to usher in the tide of night, sleep was the inevitable calling into the mind, a time where the body was vulnerable. Even warriors or kings, those born with the will and the form to fight against the harsh winters, were victims of to the power of sleep.

But what about a queen? A true queen of the Freljord, one who's skin froze to the touch and lived beyond the lives of a mere mortal. One such as this had nothing to fear from the cold or the sleep or the weaknesses that mortals held; this was such for Lissandra. She did not fear sleep and sleep did not come to her easily.

Still, that only gave her more time for her mind to eat away at something else. You see, for while men and mortals feared sleep itself, Lissandra feared what came within sleep.

Dreams

It was a silly notion, yes, but when you slept as she did, you would feel the same as well. Unlike those weak, pathetic mongrels that found themselves comfortable in the dirt, she only needed sleep once in a year. That is not to say she was stuck on a timer; she could definitely sleep a week, even a month, earlier or later than she needed. She had even planned her nights, giving her as much time and preparation for this simple event. To top it all off, Lissandra slept no longer than when she had been mortal.

But then came the dreams and it was those dreams that gave her chills once she woke. She had lived long enough to know that her dreams were no ordinary sights, they were visions. Her masters, the Watchers, were certainly doing their name justice and while she didn't know the full extent of their power, she knew that foresight was one such ability they had lent her.

Dreams had always been the medium of the visions, and no other time had she felt fear pump through her ice cold veins. These dreams were the closest she could ever get to her masters. Ever since their disappearance, she always expected something in her mindscape to come out and tell her something. At the same time, she always feared the respite or anger that her masters likely held against her.

After all, she had failed to follow her orders, let her own sisters stop her, and even now she hadn't even begun to take control against Ashe and Sejuani's tribes. It was a race really; every year she would cringe and await the ever looming rage of her masters and their intolerance for failure while trying to find ways to grab out power. Then, after every dream, it became a new task of finding out if they were to come back, only to find them to be insignificant or meaningless at best.

For too long she had to endure the torture of waiting and interpreting, waiting and interpreting over and over again. It was maddening to think what was to come, and when she found nothing in her visions or something unrelated to her plight, those rare moments of heat coming back into her blood flared up. She had even found moments of her spare time to kill something, torturing it into oblivion as she imploded every cell and fabric of its being with ice.

She had expected something like this to occur once more, a thought passing once she had let the ice covering her legs dissipate so that she could rest herself on her bed. It even began simple enough as she had drifted off to sleep without interruption. But then the dream came, a sick feeling rose from her gut as she thrashed herself away. She was awake now, away from the dream, but there was still a lingering fear.

She cursed at herself at this, at her more likely. Lissandra should have expected something to come, but of course she had to let her guard down. Foolish, simply foolish – it was the same foolishness that had led to her master's demise so long ago. No, she would not do such a thing again.

Getting dressed, the ice queen took little time to prepare herself for meditation. She had only slept for an hour, but she was not tired. This had been the clearest vision yet and Lissandra would not stand to let it fade away. Every second, she could feel the vision slipping just slightly with a part coming undone here or a sense disappearing there. In a rush of energy, that which was unseen in such cold climates, Lissandra had begun to rush through her frozen hallways. The ice had already wrapped around her legs again, almost making her fly up on a wall for hard turns or helping her zip down a normally perilous staircase.

The trolls and Frostguard that were wandering the halls quickly jumped out of her way, not willing to keep the queen neither waiting nor being the next in line to get smashed into. They had not seen the look on her face, her uncovered face mind you. She never wore that overly large headdress when she slept and she hadn't bothered to grab it on her way to her throne room.

When she approached the only door in her path, she slowed down just slightly, caring to not crash into the sizable icy blockade. All she needed was a flick of her wrist and it opened as air rushed against her. Her hair whipped around as violently as the air tried to fight almost as if to push her away from the open balcony, but Lissandra merely frowned and continued forward.

The open balcony was just as stunning as always. Off in the distance she spotted the maelstrom. It was a common occurrence and not once in numerous years she had begun living here did it ever weaken or falter. She could almost say it was like her, immortal and unshakable to the core. However, unlike this storm, she had been free from her Freljord bonds.

The bridge was closer; a grim and soothing sight for her. She had long seen past this strange landmark as a reminder of failure and more as fuel for her future. To be stuck with failures meant she would forever keep herself in the eyes of failure and that was not something she was willing to do.

Moreover, this vision had been giving her new confidence. Though painful, it meant that her masters were well aware of her presence and that they were entrusting her once more. She would be strong then; both for her masters and for herself.

It was here, out in the cold air and chilling snow, when the blurred ice she travelled on grew up and around her form. However, instead of armoring her, it bubbled out, giving her a suitable seat while shielding her. It still remained opaque and what little light came through was colored blue. Blue always helped Lissandra focus especially the darker hues.

Soon she was keeping herself as still as possible, trying to dig into the darkest recess of her mind. She had nearly missed her memory, but before it had scampered away, she caught it quickly. The witch nearly let go when the pain hit her.

It began as a terrible grip forming around her neck that came so suddenly that her hands moved towards her neck. The walls over her ice bubble construct started to close in on her while the pain moved down her throat as if a knife had been moving its way down towards her chest. But as quickly as it had appeared, she let go of the dream as she broke the ice around her. A heavy and heated breath came out from her.

There it was again, fear and she hated that feeling.

"This is getting more annoying than it needs to be."

Truth be told, Lissandra was embarrassed at her reaction. What kind of a paragon was she to have been made to act so callously? She should have been prepared for something as clear as this. She was also glad no one was watching or she might have had to wait longer to meditate while her men cleaned up.

Rising upward, she broke the rest of her egg-like structure back down to the base that covered her legs. Slow breathing helped silence the outside for her and when she thought herself ready, she relived everything as slow as she could.

It still came up as a burst, but after several more attempts, she had finally cut through the initial hit. The first bit that came to light was the feeling in her throat, the same feeling that had dragged her out of her sleep ridden state.

She felt it tighten up, yet felt a clear slicing pain near her throat. Was she experiencing torture? Was being stabbed in the throat while she was choked? Now she was intrigued by this feeling. If this had been a premonition, did this mean she was the target of a violent stabbing? Or was it the two other princesses?

A sadistic feeling rose from her gut as she imagined the two insolent royalties getting stabbed in their sleep. Still, the hint of such a thing made her frown as the ensuing chaos or eventual stability of one or both princesses dead would mean a change of plans.

Her thoughts moved away from such things when the dream began to stagger out. There was more to her vision than just this, but it had faded as she had taken too long. Lissandra huffed to herself in frustration. Though she felt some accomplishment, she knew that without everything in her mind there was still a chance that she could misinterpret her vision.

Perhaps she could sleep again, see it once more to realign her mind to dream once more. The chance seemed like an itch she was willing to scratch and there wasn't much else to do this night. With finality, the Ice witch turned towards the door as thoughts of sleep lulled her

But lo and behold, she when she had turned there had come crunching sound that reached her ears. The sound was familiar as something mixed between the landing or falling of an object, hitting ice. Her instincts flared out, experience from her numerous life and, on occasion, death experiences on the rift causing her to turn without a moments hesitation. Ice had already flew forward to strike her assailant, but all it did was fly down towards the mountain side. Lissandra she balked at her missed shot and looked around for her intruder, only to discover there was none.

But there was something where she had just stood.

From her distance, Lissandra could only see a tiny, indistinguishable mass of cloth and blood. The smell and sight of the red liquid was easy enough to identify, even as it slowly chilled from the frigid winds. Unsure of the thing before her, Lissandra steadied another lance of ice to hover over hand. She would have fired it, had it not been for the sudden draft blowing at the dark cloth. The moments were small at first, but every second that brushed against it's woolen shell displaced more and more until it it flew off revealing . . .

A boy

Now granted, Lissandra is old and while she tended to look at people like children, this situation was different. The bloodied figure was in no doubt a child, probably no older than four or five, as the proportions and babied face suggested. There were shards of something in the boy's skin. These bits and pieces of clear shards had pierced through his clothing and skin, dried red with the blood of youth. At first she had thought it to be ice, but it did not resonate with her. The witch, curious as ever, reached for the boy and pulled out a piece.

"Glass," she said out loud. Lissandra scoffed as the shard left her hand with a clink against the ground. The air had quieted and now she could see the stillness and movement of the body, a clear indication of breathing.

Suddenly, she felt no longer amused or intrigued. If anything, she was annoyed that with this strange occurrence. Not once she questioned his appearance and motioned for the ice to finish the job what the glass had started. She was just about to think of what to do with her visions when suddenly the very same feeling of choking and tearing hit the witch once more, prompting her to drop the ice a few feet shy from the child.

It was stronger, painful beyond anything she could ever believe. It wasn't stabbing anymore, no, the feeling had evolved to something akin to swallowing needles that slashed the insides of her throat as it dragged itself downward into the pit of her stomach. This was not real, Lissandra knew it to be so, but what was triggering this feeling. She almost wanted to throw another spear at the boy when she suddenly felt something seem to grab at her.

She couldn't move at all. For some reason, she was locked in a perpetual state of stillness. First the pain and now this? What would have caused such a thing. The boy's shivers and groans brought her back and then she was thinking about him.

A stifled whine came out from the child's lips. Instantly, she felt her rigidness crumble as she was left with a wobbly shard. It still hovered above her hand as she paused in her thoughts.

This boy was important. The visions and the feelings were related with him. Her masters must have brought him to her for a reason, but what was it for? Questions spewed forth as she answered numerous questions only to come back like a hydra with more heads than before. It would be a second time that the boy would grab her attention.

"Mama"

Short, simple, and sweet; it was all it took to make her look at the boy again. Her eyes narrowed as she spied the blood staining the frozen floor.

Whatever her masters needed, this boy needed to be taken care of . . . for now.

"FROSTGUARD," Lissandra shouted. There were several seconds before parts of the ice floor stretched, revealing two armored and faceless beings barely resembling humans, "Take this child to my chambers and get me the Heart of the Freljord."

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**Really don't know if this story will get any support, but I just wanted to explore Lissandra.**

**Lets see if this goes anywhere**


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